


Forgotten Magic

by tigerlily_sunshine



Series: Fractured [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Amnesia, Angst, Bigotry & Prejudice, Homophobia, M/M, Magic, Quidditch, Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-08-14 04:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7999012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerlily_sunshine/pseuds/tigerlily_sunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re a good friend, Luke,” says Ashton, partially to remind himself that, unfortunately, this is all that Luke is to him. “I’m sorry you were scared because of me.”</p>
<p>Luke sighs, frowning like Ashton’s words of comfort are anything except comforting. Ashton’s heart lurches in his chest. He doesn’t like when Luke is torn up, especially over him. He thinks that, if he had his memory right now, he might know what to say to make everything better for Luke—to make Luke’s frown disappear and never, ever come back.</p>
<p>But Ashton doesn’t have his memory. All that he has is this right here: a pounding headache, weak magic, and an unholy crush on his best friend. He has never felt so useless in his entire life.</p>
<p>(In which Ashton doesn't remember the last seven months of his life, including the fact that he is dating Luke.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to It must be Magic; however, it isn't absolutely necessary to have read the previous story to read this one. I highly recommend reading It must be Magic, though, because ~~it is only, like, 120k and~~ this story contains serious spoilers for the first one. **Major spoilers.**
> 
> Like the first story, this takes place after the Second Wizarding War in an undisclosed time period. Something like a month has passed since the end of It must be Magic.

There are many things in life of which Ashton doesn’t understand. The biggest of those, though, has to be the eternal question of why he, a terrified muggleborn, was sorted into Gryffindor, the house which honors bravery above everything else, instead of Hufflepuff, the one house that tiny eleven-year-old Ashton Irwin felt he would be comfortable in. Now, over four and a half years later, he still isn’t sure what possessed the old Sorting Hat to place him in Gryffindor.

“She’s pretty, you know,” says Bart, Ashton’s fellow fifth-year Gryffindor dorm mate. It is probably the sixth time he has made such an observation today alone, yet he still feels the need to specify who he is referring to. “Juliet.”

Bart is a tall, gangly wizard with dark hair and dark eyes and a seemingly ever-present impish grin. A pureblood, Bart was the first of Ashton’s housemates to show the scared little muggleborn all of the glories of the wizarding world, greeting his new Gryffindor housemate with a handful of chocolate frogs and a bottle of illicit Butterbeer on their first night in the castle. Ashton has a soft spot for Bart and for Bart’s friends, who, despite the numerous times Ashton ditches his housemates to hang out with Calum Hood and Luke Hemmings and, now at least, Michael Clifford, still treat him as though he is one of their own.

“She saw me take a bludger to the stomach my first game and vomit all over myself and my broomstick in midair,” says Ashton, making a face at that particular memory. He feels his cheeks redden at the long-ago incident. That had been about three and a half years ago in real time, but in Ashton’s memory it was under three years. “As pretty as she is, she certainly has to remember that remarkable impression of me, so, er, no.”

Bart snorts.

“To be fair, _everybody_ saw that,” he says, ever so helpfully. “Besides, that was forever ago. She’s seen you own the quidditch pitch many times since then to make up for it. You should totally ask Jules out.”

Ashton’s stomach churns at the very idea. His heart lurches in chest. He doesn’t want to ask out a pretty Gryffindor girl, because, truthfully, he is so far in love with Luke, his best friend, that he can’t see straight. The problem is, though, that Bart doesn’t know that Ashton is in love with Luke, because, despite Bart’s loyalty, Ashton knows Bart would do everything in his power to make Ashton’s final two years at Hogwarts a living hell. There is no room for weakness in Gryffindor house, and, as far as Bart is concerned with his conservative views ripped straight from old-regime propaganda, Ashton admitting he is in love with Luke, a wizard, is a sign of ultimate weakness.

The Second Wizarding War is long over, having been waged a good decade before Ashton even knew this entire world existed. Even though the old-regime had died out with the downfall of Lord Voldemort, prejudices still exist in the wizarding world. Werewolves can’t hold jobs. Half-giants are denied applications to alternative wizarding wand qualifications. Centaurs are pushed farther and farther into forests where the wizarding world can ignore their very existence. Wizards can’t love other wizards, and witches can’t love other witches. The war is over, but the world is far from equality, though, admittedly, things are slowly changing for the good.

“Even if I wanted to ask her out—which I don’t—this isn’t really the best time for me to be making major life decisions,” says Ashton.

“It’s just a date. There’s nothing major about that.”

“I don’t remember the last seven months of my life, all right? Everything is major to me right now.”

Bart sighs, defeated. He frowns like he always does when he brought back down to the reality in which Ashton lives. Over a month ago, a Slytherin had blasted Ashton back into a stone wall, and he had cracked his head against it. When he woke up in the infirmary, he had no recollection of the last half of year of his life, which, apparently, included exactly why he had gone to the aid of Michael Clifford, another Slytherin who, though nice enough, was ostracized by his classmates. Sometime in last few months, Michael had become less ostracized as Calum struck up a friendship with him. So did Luke and, apparently, Ashton.

Even with all of the ambiguity Ashton deals with inside of his mind on a daily basis, Bart is relentless in his quest to get Ashton and Juliet together. Bart glances at Juliet, the pretty Gryffindor girl that he had been talking up to Ashton for ages. Juliet really is pretty—Ashton would go as far as to call her beautiful with her blonde hair and her green eyes and her ability to make even the ugliest of spells sound so delightful—but Ashton won’t admit this to Bart. It would only encourage Bart to continue prodding at Ashton to ask Juliet out. Ashton doesn’t want that.

Bart sighs. It isn’t a signal of defeat, not like Ashton would hope that it would be. It is, instead, of frustration.

“You can’t put your life on hold,” says Bart, after a moment. “I know you want to, and that maybe some people want you to as well, but you shouldn’t. You deserve to be happy regardless of what those seven months hold—which, in case you’re wondering, was a whole lot of nothing for you. I was there, you know. I do remember.”

Ashton chews on his bottom lip, looking away from his friend. He hates it when other people tell him they know what the last seven months of his life held, because he doesn’t feel like anything they tell him actually belongs to him. He feels so disconnected from himself. It is one thing hearing a story, but it is an entirely different thing remembering it in his own mind.

Regardless, even if Ashton were interested, this probably isn’t the best place for a conversation regarding a potential date with Juliet. They are in the middle of Charms class now and should be charming tea cups to grow legs. Bart accomplished such a feat ten minutes into the practical part of their lesson. Ashton, on the other hand, did it in half of the time.

Ashton’s memory may be shot as far as the last seven months goes, but he is still very adept with his wand. The healers say it is because spellwork and created memories are two different kinds of memories. The type of amnesia Ashton has doesn’t affect his magical knowledge—which is a blessing considering that this is Ashton’s fifth year at Hogwarts, and he is expected to do his O.W.L.s along with the rest of his classmates in the next few weeks. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t remember, and until I do, I’d rather put off the whole dating thing,” says Ashton, a little harsher than he typically would try to tackle such an ultimatum. He is apologetic about his tone, except that his head is starting to twinge with the beginnings of a headache. He knows it is going to be full-blown in just a few minutes, and he is going to be useless for the rest of the day. He doesn’t have the energy for niceties at the moment, not with a topic as exhausted as this one is.

“It still wouldn’t hurt to just ask her out for dinner or something,” says Bart. “There’s a trip to Hogsmeade this weekend. You should invite her to Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. You’d get a cup of coffee out of it at the least.”

Ashton groans. He likes Bart’s company. Really, he does. He likes that Bart is always happy to pair up with him in the classes that Ashton doesn’t have with Luke or Calum. What he doesn’t like is that once Bart gets something in his head, he doesn’t stop until it becomes reality, one way or another. The last thing Ashton wants is for Juliet to become his reality.

“I’ve already promised Luke I’d take him to the music shop,” says Ashton, and he has to bite back a smile at how Luke’s always eyes sparkle whenever they step into the tiny, charming music shop owned by Dominic Maestro. Ashton may be the one with the vain hopes of being a rockstar one day, but music is magical to Luke, too. It is one of the passions that Ashton and Luke share that makes it so easy for Ashton to picture himself waking up next to Luke every day for the rest of their lives—if only Ashton wasn’t too scared to chase that particular dream. “I don’t want to have tea with Juliet. She probably doesn’t even want to have tea with me. I nearly brained her with a bludger last night at quidditch practice, or have you forgotten?”

Bart rolls his eyes.

“You’re already so far up Luke’s arse that you need a break, mate,” he says, and when Ashton glares at him, he throws up his hands in surrender. “All right, fine. I’ll shut up about Juliet for now, but, seriously, you should hang out at the Hog’s Head with me and Theodore. We haven’t hung out together in forever.”

Ashton has an agreement ready on lips, but he hesitated. He replays Bart’s words over in his mind once more. He lowers his eyebrows in confusion.

“I thought you said that we hung out all of the time now,” he says, slowly. He is pretty sure that is indeed what Bart had told him over dinner a few days after Ashton had lost his memory. The fact that Bart has been attached to Ashton’s hip in a way that Ashton doesn’t remember Bart ever being had only solidified Bart’s claim that, in the last few months, Ashton had spent more and more time with the Gryffindors than with his other friends.

“I meant at Hogsmeade,” says Bart, waving him off. “You’re always too good to hang out with us mere mortals on those weekends. It’s _Luke_ or nobody for you, apparently.”

_Maybe it’s because I like Luke better than you_ , thinks Ashton, but he doesn’t say. It isn’t a very kind thing to say, and he isn’t really sure that it is entirely true anymore. He and Luke were inseparable seven months ago, but the problem is that seven months is a long time for things to change. It is very possible that, with Ashton spending so much time with Bart as of late, he and Luke have had a fallen out that Luke is too kind to tell him about. It would explain why Luke has been acting awfully odd around Ashton as of late, as if he is consciously holding something back whenever he is around Ashton.

“You sound jealous,” notes Ashton.

He would grin, but the twinge of pain in his head is steadily growing toward a full-blown ache, and he suddenly wants nothing more than to be curled up in bed right now. He needs to leave class now. He doesn’t think he can make it the last twenty minutes. He is pretty sure he has another vial of easing potion that should take a little bit of the edge off his impending headache if he takes it early enough, but it is all the way up in Gryffindor Tower. He collects his teacup with legs and his books, and he stands up.

“I’m not feeling well,” he says, probably unnecessarily, given the cold sweat that is breaking out across his forehead. His face feels flush. He doesn’t know how he is going to make it all the way up to the seventh floor, but he can’t stay here. “I’ll see you later.”

He doesn’t wait for Bart’s response. He stumbles his way to Professor Flitwick, who is observing a pair of Slytherins trying to perfect the charm. Professor Flitwick accepts Ashton’s assignment and praises him for a job well done. When Professor Flitwick expresses concern for Ashton’s health, suggesting that maybe Ashton should visit Madam Pomfrey, Ashton shrugs it off. He asks to leave class instead. Professor Flitwick has always had a soft spot for him, so he lets Ashton miss the last twenty minutes of class.

Ashton is glad for the relief. He stumbles his way to the door and then out into the corridor. Hogwarts is a magnificently beautiful castle. Ashton has always thought so, but he has never understood why it is so difficult to navigate, especially whenever he has to traipse all the way up to the seventh floor just to get to his common room. Right now, with his head beginning to hurt so much it is pounding, the four floors separating him from Gryffindor Tower is the most daunting journey he has ever faced.

He gives it his best go nonetheless. He makes it up an entire set of stairs before he is so dizzy that he has to grab for the banister to keep from falling back down them. His head hurts so badly that he wants to cry, and he wishes that he hadn’t been so blasé with Professor Flitwick a few moments ago.

He wishes he had gone to Madam Pomfrey. Surely, somebody would have escorted him there at the very least, and she would have given him a nice potion to ease the throbbing pain in the back of his eyelids—but she would have also insisted that he stay overnight for observation and might have even considered sending him straight back to St. Mungo’s for another useless visit. If the healers didn’t know how to fix his memory back when he first lost it, they won’t be able to do anything now, either.

Maybe it is best that Ashton shrugged off Professor Flitwick’s suggestion to visit the infirmary. After all, Ashton doesn’t need another trip to St. Mungo’s where, apparently, all of the magic in the world can’t fix Ashton’s brain. All Ashton needs is the easing potion up in his dorm. He spends another five minutes clutching the banister for dear life as his head pounds with aching pain before he remembers that he is a wizard. He can merely summon the potion that he needs from his dormitory.

He reaches into his pocket with a trembling hand and pulls out his wand. He readies the spell on the tip of his tongue, but when he tries it, a wave of nausea washes over him like his own magic is sick, and the spell fails. Useless sparks fly from the tip of his wand. He sinks to the floor, exhausted and sick and magically nauseous.

He sits there for a long time. He feels tired to his bones, probably more than he ever has felt in his entire life. His wand feels searing hot in his hand, like the magic in its core is fighting the weakened magic running through Ashton’s veins. The wand spills from his slackened fingers, rattling to the stone floor.

Classes end. Students pile out into the corridor, bustling with excitement that has been contained for the past hour of learning. It is near the end of the day, so some students make their ways to their common rooms. Ashton watches dozens pass by him from his spot tucked out of the way on the landing. Nobody spares him a second glance. Not for the first time since he sat down magically sick does he wonder how he is going to make it up to Gryffindor Tower.

Ashton needn’t not to worry. As if he senses Ashton’s needs, Luke appears at the top of the steps. He spots Ashton in an instant and immediately comes to a dead halt. He ignores the indignant complains behind him as he stops the flow of traffic. Concern rushes across his face.

“What are you doing sitting on the floor?” he asks, gentle like he is terrified of the answer.

Relief sweeps through Ashton like a raging wildfire. He has never been so happy to see somebody in his entire life. Luke looks handsome in his Ravenclaw robes. His hair is sticking up in all directions on top of his head like it always does after a long day of classes. He has a bad habit of running his fingers through his hair whenever he has trouble perfecting spells or following professors’ lectures.

“Tired,” is Ashton’s weak response. His voice is raspy. He is afraid to say too much more or he might vomit. The magic coursing through his veins revolts at the little effort it took for Ashton to speak in the first place.

“Tired like you need to see Madam Pomfrey?” asks Luke.

Ashton shakes his head. He appreciates Luke’s concern, but he really don’t need Madam Pomfrey. All he needs is the easing potion in his dormitory—and to maybe stop shaking his head. Luke and Hogwarts swirl together in his vision.

Luke frowns like he knows Ashton is lying, but, like a good friend, he doesn’t call Ashton out on it.

“Lemme get you up to my common room. I made a fresh batch of easing potion last night, and I’ve got some Pepper-Up potion, too. I’ll need to make more of that soon, I think, but I’ve got to get Mandrake root before I can. Remind me when we’re at Hogsmeade this weekend, and I’ll stop by the apothecary to get stock back up.”

Luke babbles on about potions like it is nothing at all that he has brewed dozens of batches of all of the potions that Ashton has needed since Ashton woke up in the hospital wing over five weeks ago and couldn’t remember the past seven months. Ashton feels so overcome with _love_ that if he were feeling better right now, he might haul off and kiss Luke. Nobody has ever cared for Ashton so much in his entire life as Luke has in the past month.

Luke steps forward, closer to Ashton, and gingerly helps Ashton to his feet. He ducks underneath Ashton’s arm to support Ashton’s weight all by himself, and Ashton appreciates Luke so much that he might kiss him anyway, despite how magically sick he feels. He wishes beyond all wishes that he were allowed to kiss Luke right now, but he isn’t. Luke is just his friend.

Luke shoulders Ashton’s bag right next to his own. He leads Ashton toward the next flight of stairs, and they make their way up the steps. It is a slow affair. Even with Luke’s help, Ashton can’t go more than a single step at a time. Luke is patient. He doesn’t hurry Ashton, and he doesn’t seem to care at all that it takes them so long to get up to the next landing.

This is the fourth floor. The entrance to the Ravenclaw common room is down a couple of corridors. Luke stops at the corner of the first one to let Ashton rest. Ashton pants for his breath. He hates that he is so weak. He appreciates Luke’s kindness so, so much.

“Sorry,” gasps Ashton, when he finally starts to catch his breath. He leans against the stone wall of the corridor. He has spent the past ten minutes resting his entire weight on Luke’s shoulders, and Luke probably needs a break, though Luke himself shows no sign of fatigue. “I know I’m—”

“Still recovering,” interrupts Luke. He smiles at Ashton like there is nobody else in the entire world. It is a little intimidating, but Ashton doesn’t have time to tarry on the thought. Luke isn’t finished speaking. “Don’t apologize for recovering, Ash. I thank Merlin that you’re alive. That was a—I’ve never been as scared in my life as I was when you hit your head.”

Ashton’s heart skips a beat in his chest. He feels so overwhelmed with _love_ again that he has to curl his hands into fists just to keep from doing something stupid like lurch forward and press his lips flush against Luke’s. He can’t do that. _He can’t_. Friends don’t kiss each other, at least not as endlessly as Ashton wants to kiss Luke.  

“You’re a good friend, Luke,” says Ashton, partially to remind himself that, unfortunately, this is all that Luke is to him. “I’m sorry you were scared because of me.”

Luke sighs, frowning like Ashton’s words of comfort are anything except comforting. Ashton’s heart lurches in his chest. He doesn’t like when Luke is torn up, especially over him. He thinks that, if he had his memory right now, he might know what to say to make everything better for Luke—to make Luke’s frown disappear and never, ever come back.

But Ashton doesn’t have his memory. All that he has is this right here: a pounding headache, weak magic, and an unholy crush on his best friend. He has never felt so useless in his entire life.

“Let’s get you to the common room,” says Luke. He steps forward to gently put Ashton’s arm back over his own shoulder. “You’ll feel better with some potions in your system.”

Yeah, Ashton probably will. He lets Luke guide him the rest of the way to the Ravenclaw Tower. At first, he tries to hold as much of his own weight as he can, but it is a fruitless endeavor. Within a few steps, he is so exhausted that he collapses against Luke, who doesn’t complain about the added weight.

They reach the eagle-shaped bronze knocker. Luke pauses only long enough to listen to the riddle before he rattles off the correct answer to gain entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. Not for the first time, Ashton is glad that he wasn’t sorted into Ravenclaw. He would never be able to obtain access to his common room. He does well enough remembering the password to give to the Fat Lady outside of Gryffindor Tower.

The Ravenclaw common room is elegant in all of the ways that the Gryffindor common room is homey. The entrance leads into a lofted study area where dozens of students are bent over textbooks getting ready for future classes. Luke leads Ashton down the staircase to the main floor where more tables and dozens of comfortable sofas and armchairs are scattered about.

There is a big fireplace in the middle of the room. It is roaring hot in the wintertime, Ashton knows, but, now, with spring right on the doorstep, the fire burns low and warm. The fireplace separates the studious side of the main floor from the social side.

Even the fireplace, in all of its glory, takes a backseat to the panoramic view of Hogwarts and its grounds that are visible from every spot in the common room. It is breathtaking. Ashton has always thought so, but, now, he isn’t given the chance to appreciate it. Truthfully, he doesn’t have the ability to appreciate it, not with his head throbbing in pain so much pain that his vision swims.

Luke leads Ashton through a maze of tables toward the hidden entrance to the boys’ dormitory. This takes them down another set of stairs and then another until they reach the fifth year boy’s dorm. Luke helps Ashton inside. The dorm is empty, as most of Luke’s housemates, and even Luke himself, have class right now.

Luke sits Ashton down on the edge of his bed. The curtains are half-drawn, so Luke pins them back with a quick flick of his wand. He opens one of the drawers to his wardrobe. Dozens of vials filled with various potions set neatly arranged. Luke pulls out a clear colored potion and, after a moment, a turquoise colored one, too.

Ashton knows both of them well. The first is a Replenishing potion, and the other is a Strengthening Solution. Luke uncaps both of them for him.

“Don’t have Pepper-Up. Sorry. The Strengthening Solution should do you just as good,” he says. He should know by now what potions help Ashton the most. It is true that the Strengthening Solution, despite its vile taste, does its job to combat the exhaustion that seeps into Ashton’s bones.

Ashton doesn’t have the capacity to verbally thank Luke for his kindness, but he smiles weakly at him and hopes that it will suffice. Luke’s responding grin is ear-to-ear. Ashton takes the first potion from Luke and throws it back. He swallows the next in a quick succession so that he doesn’t have to deal with the foul taste of the first one for too long. That doesn’t matter too much anymore. He has grown used to the awful tastes of potions by now.

Unlike the muggle medications Ashton grew up on, the potions act instantly. Ashton feels marginally better. His exhaustion wanes to nothing more than sleepy tiredness. The nausea leaves, too, but his head is still very much pounding. Neither of the potions are meant to treat that problem.

Luke takes the empty vials back from him, cautious that Ashton might accidentally drop and break them. He sets them on the wardrobe behind him to be taken care of later. They will be washed and reused.

“Can’t give you a full dose of the easing potion,” says Luke, turning back to his wardrobe to dig out another vial. Ashton doesn’t think he has ever heard Luke sound so apologetic in his entire life. “It’s too soon after the one you took this morning. I can give you half of a dose and offer sleepy cuddles until you feel better?”

“You had me at sleepy cuddles,” says Ashton.

He offers Luke another smile when Luke turns around, and it brings a soft blush to Luke’s cheeks. Ashton’s heart skips a beat in his chest. If he closes his eyes and pretends hard enough, he can almost convince himself that, if he wanted to, he could lean forward right now and kiss Luke and Luke would kiss him back.

“Bottoms up,” says Luke, handing Ashton the vial that is, as warned, only half-filled with the easing potion.

Ashton downs that one, too. Afterward, Luke takes the vial from him and puts it on the wardrobe next to the other empty ones. He goes about making good on his offer of sleepy cuddles. He kicks off his shoes and strips down to his boxers. There is an old gold and red bandana wrapped around his left wrist. Ashton thinks that it might be his, but he doesn’t ask. Luke rummages around in another drawer of his wardrobe and pulls out a muggle t-shirt. This, Ashton does know, used to belong to Ashton. It is one of the muggle band t-shirt that Luke nicked from him sometime last summer. Ashton grins at Luke’s choice.

“I’m never getting that back, am I?” he asks, but he doesn’t care. He likes how it looks on Luke, how the stretched-out black fabric hangs lose around Luke’s shoulders. Luke doesn’t have the build of a quidditch beater like Ashton does, yet the shirt looks a million times better on Luke than it does perfectly molded to Ashton’s body.

“Nope,” answers Luke, unabashed.

He goes down on one knee to remove Ashton’s shoes. It is an intimate gesture. Ashton’s heart leaps to his throat. Luke is so gentle with him.

After Luke rids Ashton of his shoes, he tugs off Ashton’s socks, the mismatched pair of Puddlemere United and Chudley Cannons that Ashton had dug out of his clean clothes pile this morning. Luke folds them both neatly over Ashton’s shoes then helps Ashton the rest of the way out of his robes until he is left in his boxers, and Luke slips an old Ravenclaw jumper over Ashton’s head.

The jumper itself is nearly threadbare. Luke has had it since his first night at Hogwarts, when his elder brothers charmed a plain red jumper the blue and bronze colors of Ravenclaw in celebration of his sorting. It was much smaller back then, but Luke has since had Calum to charm it to make it grow with him. The result is the thin fabric it is made of today, but it is perfect for sleepy cuddles. Ashton won’t get too hot in it.

Luke ushers Ashton farther into the bed. It is a single, so two people aren’t meant to fit on it with ample space. Luke isn’t good with charms. He can brew a thousand different potions with his eyes shut, but he struggles with the simplest of charms. He doesn’t bother making the bed any larger like Calum would do if he were here, too. Instead, Luke crawls underneath the covers right next to Ashton and immediately cuddles up to him.

It takes Luke and Ashton a couple of minutes to get comfortably situated. By the time Luke has drawn his curtain shut, they settle into a familiar position: Ashton curled around Luke, his head on Luke’s shoulder and Luke’s arms wrapped tightly around him. It is an embrace of lovers, but they are just friends.

“Don’t you have class?” murmurs Ashton.

He is already so close to sleep that his words come out all jumbled together. His head still aches, though it is no longer pounding. Now, all he wants is to fall asleep curled safely around Luke and stay that way forever.

“Yeah, but I’ll take you instead,” says Luke, and it is the last thing Ashton remembers before he falls asleep, safe and content in Luke’s arms and feeling for all of the world like he would like to fall asleep just like this for the rest of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Ashton wakes up late the next morning, having slept straight through the rest of the evening and the night in Luke’s bed up in Ravenclaw tower. The mix of potions always makes him tired, and with magic as weak as it is, Ashton’s body needs as much time as it possibly can to recover. When he finally does come back into consciousness, he feels fine, a little weak like usual and a tiny bit sleep-hungover, but fine compared to the previous evening.

He also wakes up alone in a tangle of sheets that smell like Luke. The curtain is drawn shut over the small alcove in which the bed sets. The eastward-facing window is charmed to block out most of the daylight, allowing whomever is in bed to sleep as late as they wish without being bothered by the early morning sun.

Ashton isn’t alone for a long. No sooner than he entertains the idea of getting out of bed to face the day does Luke pull open the curtains. Luke has a plate of toast in one hand, his other, which is wrapped around the curtain, holds his wand and, from it, hovers a goblet of pumpkin juice. It is Ashton’s typical breakfast.

Luke gasps, surprised because Ashton is already awake. Ashton grins up at him, a greeting dying on his lips when he realizes how beautiful Luke looks washed over by the morning sunlight streaming into the dormitory. Luke always looks handsome, of course. Ashton could write odes to his beauty if that were a thing that best friends were allowed to do for one another. There is something ethereal about the way the golden sunlight dances off Luke’s blond hair and frames his face in the newness of a brand new day. Ashton wishes time would stop and never, ever start again just so he doesn’t have to give up this picturesque view.

“You’re up,” says Luke. He sounds genuinely happy that Ashton is, indeed, awake. He smiles brightly at Ashton. “I snuck out some breakfast for you—almost got caught, but Mike helped me create a void to get here, so I didn’t.”

“A void?” repeats Ashton.

The smile falls from Luke’s lips for a brief second then reappears as brightly as it was, as if it had never left. It sits awkwardly on Luke’s lips like one always does whenever Luke is reminded of the fact that Ashton doesn’t remember the six of the last seven months and, therefore, doesn’t remember something so important in his life—or allegedly important. Ashton isn’t sure how something related to Michael Clifford could be all that important to elicit such a reaction from Luke right now.

“Forgot you didn’t remember. You picked it up quicker than any of us did back when Hogwarts let us use them. I mean, Hogwarts sometimes lets Calum use them now, and I think I could have opened one the other day in Arithmancy when I totally didn’t do my homework and Professor Vector was on a warpath,” rambles Luke. “’M pretty sure Hogwarts would have had my back then.”

He stops speaking all of a sudden, his cheeks darkening to a pretty shade of pink as he realizes that he became so caught up in his story that he didn’t answer Ashton’s question. Ashton doesn’t particularly mind, not if Luke looks this beautiful blushing all over himself. It should be a crime, how good a blush fits Luke’s cheeks.

“Oh, right. The voids. Sorry. Er—they’re sort of—well, to be frank, I’m not totally sure what they are. Michael has explained the mechanics of them, as far as he understands them, about ten times, but I keep getting lost—or distracted, actually. They’re basically like portals through Hogwarts’ magic. Or maybe they’re more like corridors through Hogwarts’ magic that you can take and you’ll end up where ever you need to be, like, instantly.”

“Sounds handy,” says Ashton, because it does, in fact, sound like a convenient way to travel Hogwarts. It is much more efficient than the hundreds of staircases that move any and every time that Ashton steps foot on one. It would certainly cut down on his time to get to class from all the way up in Gryffindor Tower.

“It is,” agrees Luke, still grinning. The grin fades in the next instant. It is almost a natural thing, a response to the confusion blossoming on his face. “The only thing is, though, that Hogwarts only seems to like Michael enough to let him go whenever he wants. For Cal and me and you, it’s a little different. Hogwarts was really good at letting us use the voids when Michael first taught us, but then…”

An inexplicable sense of dread builds up in Ashton. Maybe it is the way that Luke frowns. Or maybe it is the tiny alarm going off in the back of Ashton’s mind that there is a reason the voids like Michael but not Ashton, Luke, and Calum. Or maybe it is the ghost of a memory tickling just close enough to Ashton’s recollection to tell him that maybe he doesn’t want to know what exactly Luke isn’t saying.

Ashton swallows. He isn’t sure he wants to know—not really, not if it brings a dark shadow across Luke’s face—but his curiosity gets the best of him. When, after a long span of seconds, Luke doesn’t speak, Ashton prods at him.

“Then?”

Luke sighs, like he doesn’t really want to talk about it but has to because he can’t deny Ashton anything. The frown on his lips deepen. For a long moment longer, he says nothing. Ashton swears he can see the cogs turning in Luke’s mind as Luke weighs what he wants to say and what he doesn’t.

“A really bad thing happened, and everything pointed back to Michael, and when we turned on Michael, Hogwarts turned on us. Calum and I—and you, too—haven’t been able to use the voids properly without Michael.”

“Oh,” says Ashton, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He wants to ask Luke exactly what that really bad thing that happened was, but he isn’t sure he is ready for the answer. He doesn’t know Michael very well, not with his memory as shot as it is. Maybe he shouldn’t let something he doesn’t even remember color his opinion of Michael.

“Yeah, so, er—I brought you breakfast,” says Luke, transitioning awkwardly away from the subject of voids back to the plate of toast in his hands. He offers it to Ashton but puts the goblet of pumpkin juice down on the wardrobe where it won’t spill. “Better eat up. You can’t take your potions on an empty stomach.”

No, Ashton can’t, so he obliges Luke’s command. The toast is dry and scratchy against the roof of his mouth, but the Hogwarts elves somehow always make good toast. It is like they have magicked up the perfect amount of time to toast the bread so that it tastes delicious instead of burnt like Ashton’s attempts always do.

Ashton can’t handle much flavoring in the mornings right after he wakes up. It is too overwhelming, and he ends up with a stomach ache for the rest of the day. That is why he likes toast so much, and that is why he gobbles down what Luke has brought him like it was the most delicious feast in the history of the world.

Once the toast is gone, Ashton reaches for the pumpkin juice to wash it all down. It is sweet on his tongue, a delectable blend of pumpkin and spice that makes Ashton wonder how he spent eleven years of his life completely oblivious to the magical drink. It isn’t too sweet to be hard on his stomach, and he drinks half of it before he stops. He knows he is going to want something to drink after all of the potions that Luke is going to make him take.

“How is your head?” inquires Luke.

He is rummaging through his stock of potions in his wardrobe, but he pauses long enough to glance over his shoulder at Ashton and wait for Ashton’s response. Luke already has the easing potion set out on the wardrobe. He has two other potions clutched in his left hand.

“Feels perfectly normal right now,” says Ashton. That in and of itself is a rare thing. He always wakes up with a pounding head, but, this morning, that pain is a thousand worlds away. “Must still have some of the dose from last night in my system.”

Luke hums like he agrees that maybe that is the explanation. He doesn’t offer an alternative one. He turns back to his stock of potions.

“I’m going to give you an extra vial of the easing potion so that you can keep it in your book bag,” says Luke. “I’ve charmed it to be unbreakable just in case. Be careful when you take it, though. You can only have one full dose every twenty-four hours, and you have to take either a half dose at a time or a full one. That’s it.”

Ashton smiles. Luke takes such good care of him, and Luke fusses over Ashton like Ashton is the most precious person in the entire world to Luke. Maybe that is Ashton’s crazy, hopeful mind playing tricks on him, though. Luke is his best friend and nothing more. Best friends look out for one another. That is all that this is.

“If you want to take half of a dose of easing potion just in case, you can, but, otherwise, I think you’ll be fine without it until you need it,” says Luke.

He finally shuts the drawer and sets a series of four potions on the wardrobe before Ashton. One of them is the easing potion. The other three are various potions designed to help Ashton keep his strength up, to keep Ashton’s mind clear, and to heal Ashton’s magic, which has been weaker than usual since he woke up without his memories.

Ashton leaves the vial full of easing potion where it sets and takes the other three potions in quick succession. He follows them up with the last of his pumpkin juice. The drink doesn’t taste as deliciously sweet as it did with his breakfast, but it does the job to wash away the awful aftertaste of the potions.

“I gave Calum and Michael a couple of vials of easing potion, too,” says Luke as he busies himself putting the extra vial into Ashton’s school bag. “Mike has Care of Magical Creatures with you this morning, so if you start to feeling bad, tell him, and he’ll take you through a void straight to—well, if not Madam Pomfrey, to me, and I’ll give you another potion to make you feel better.”

Ashton blushes, overcome with the urge to kiss Luke because Luke is worrying over him so much. He likes the attention. He likes _Luke’s_ attention, but it almost too much to receive Luke’s attention without being able to kiss him like Ashton would like.

Because Ashton can’t look at Luke right now without feeling an overwhelming desire to kiss him straight on the lips like friends should never do, Ashton stares down at the duvet folded across his lap. It isn’t the typical Ravenclaw blue one that is on the beds belonging to Luke’s dorm mates but is rather the duvet that eleven-year-old Ashton had lent to Luke back in first year when Luke complained of the cold, drafty winters up in Ravenclaw tower. Ashton knows how hard it is to sleep in a room high up in the sky where, no matter the strength of the castle’s built-in protecting charms or warming spells, the winter cold still seeps deep into bones.

Ashton’s mother, bless her muggle soul, hadn’t trusted the castle to keep her eldest son nice and warm through the coldest months, so she had packed him with the black and red duvet from his childhood bed. When Luke mentioned to his brand new friends, Ashton and Calum, that he had trouble sleeping during the long, cold nights, Ashton had showed up at Ravenclaw tower with the duvet in hand. It had taken him a good ten minutes to work out the riddle, and, even then, a fifth-year had to help him out. The effort was worth it, though, to see the delight blossom across Luke’s chubby face when Ashton presented the duvet to him.

Over the years, both Ashton and Luke had learned how to charm the curtains of their beds to keep the warm in and the cold out, but still, four and a half years later, Ashton’s duvet lays on Luke’s bed.

“You take good care of me, and you don’t even have to,” says Ashton, without looking up at Luke. He can’t handle looking at Luke right now, not without giving into the overwhelming urge to kiss him. Friends aren’t supposed to want to kiss one another. “Merlin, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I don’t even want to imagine living without you,” says Luke, quietly.

Ashton doesn’t know what to say in response to that, so he doesn’t say anything. It is almost too much to think about, how much Luke cares for him. Ashton just wishes that Luke cared for him in a way that Ashton himself cares for Luke, but the world doesn’t work like that. Ashton could never be lucky enough to call Luke his own. It is a depressing conclusion but one that Ashton has lived with since he realized that he was head over heels in love with Luke nearly three years ago.

The magic in the center of the room ripples, catching Ashton’s attention. In the next second, Michael and Calum appear out of nowhere. Slightly out of breath, they are both dressed for the day, Michael in his Slytherin robes and Calum in his Hufflepuff ones. A silver chained necklace hangs from Calum’s neck, resting above his yellow and black tie. From it dangles a silver whistle and a clashing golden ring. Michael’s hair is a shock of red, a product of the charm Luke had taught him shortly before Ashton lost his memory—or so Michael once told Ashton in passing.

“Took you two long enough,” says Luke, grinning at Calum and then Michael. “Did you bring him?”

“Sometimes, I think you’re just friends with me because of Newt,” says Michael, but he, too, is grinning. He reaches into the pocket of his robes and pulls out a tiny hedgehog encased in a tiny blue and silver jumper. He holds the hedgehog in the palm of one hand, stroking along its quills with the pointer finger of his other. “Though, I don’t suppose I blame you for that. Newt’s pretty cool.”

“You’re pretty cool,” says Luke, mimicking Michael. He reaches out for Newt. “Now, gimme the hedgehog. I need something to keep me entertained during Divination.”

Michael hands Newt over to Luke. Newt goes easily to Luke, nosing into the palm of Luke’s hand like he is happy to see Luke. Michael smiles fondly at the hedgehog then up at Luke.

“I fed him breakfast, but you can feed him snacks, too, if you want,” says Michael. “Just try not to spoil him too much. I still need him to like me better than you.”

Luke laughs.

“You saved him from a pit of knarls,” says Luke. “I’m pretty sure Newt is in love with you for life.”

“He’s got to share Michael with me, though,” says Calum, throwing his arm over Michael’s shoulder and pulling Michael close. He kisses Michael’s cheek because he can, and a nice blush settles across Michael’s pale skin. “Might be a deal breaker.”

“Your logic is flawed,” says Luke. “Newt would have to share me with—”

Luke stops talking so quickly that he trips over his own tongue. His eyes go wide, and they dart to Ashton but don’t linger long. His cheeks flush in humiliation. A horrible silence encroaches on the room.

Ashton is left feeling like he is missing something important. Like an outsider among his own friends. It isn’t a nice feeling, being left out of something so big that Michael and Calum flinch full-bodied away from Luke like the aborted words are too much to handle. A bad taste settles in the back of Ashton’s mouth, worse than every single potion that he has taken since he woke up in the hospital wing without his memories all put together.

“We’re going to be late, Luke,” says Calum, suddenly, in an awkward attempt to change the subject. He can’t bring himself to look at Ashton when he speaks. “So are Michael and Ashton, and Ashton still needs to get dressed.”

“Take a void,” says Michael to Calum. He pulls off nonchalance better than Calum does. He even manages to offer Ashton a friendly smile. “Better keep Luke’s jumper on. It’ll be cold in the forest, and we’re working with Thestrals again today.”

Luke won’t look at Ashton, either. His cheeks are still pink. He gently places Newt into the pocket of his robes then busies himself with piling books into his school bag. Ashton bites his lips together and looks away from Luke. He wants to ask what was so bad in the six months missing from Ashton’s memory to occasionally reduce Luke to a nervous, reclusive stranger who isn’t as comfortable around Ashton as best friends should be.

Ashton doesn’t ask. He charms the wrinkles out of his clothes instead. He slips into them, his trousers first then his shirt then his robe. He slips his feet into the shoes he had abandoned next to Luke’s bed last night. When he stands up and shoulders his bag, he purposefully leaves Luke’s jumper on the bed, despite Michael’s advice otherwise. Ashton can do a warming spell if he gets too cold outside in the forest.

Luke looks over at him then. His eyes flash to the jumper on the bed, and he winces. It is an almost imperceptible reaction, except Ashton has been in love with Luke practically since the day they met, and Ashton knows everything there is to know about Luke—or he did, but, now, as Luke’s gaze drifts seamlessly from the abandoned jumper to Michael like it isn’t a slap in the face at all that Ashton would rather freeze than wear Luke’s borrowed jumper, Ashton isn’t so sure he does, in fact, know everything there is to know about Luke. Ashton is missing six months, for starters.

“You know, since I’m taking care of Newt and all, could you maybe—pretty please—open a void to the Divination Stairwell for us? If I try, I’m likely to end up in Professor Vector’s office by mistake _again_ , and she is still a little sour with me because I didn’t do my homework for her class the other day.”

Michael laughs, shaking his head fondly at Luke like he expected such a request.

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” says Michael.

“Yeah,” agrees Luke, his voice sober in all of the ways that Michael’s was amused. “I really am.”

Ashton’s stomach flip flops for no reason other than the way Luke is looking at Michael—other than the way that Luke is regarding Michael like Michael is precious and should be protected. Ashton knows Luke and Michael are only friends. He does, because Michael is so head over heels in love with Calum that it makes Ashton green with jealousy that he himself isn’t allowed to love Luke just as fiercely or just as openly.

Once upon a time, Luke looked at Ashton like he is looking at Michael right now, only there was a hint of something deeper—something seemingly impossible like _love_ in his eyes—but now, Luke can hardly bring himself to glance over at Ashton in the split second before he disappears through a void.

Calum offers a farewell before he follows Luke through into nothingness, and Michael is left alone with Ashton in the dormitory. If Michael senses Ashton’s misplaced envy, he doesn’t let on as so. He only smiles warmly at Ashton and extends his hand toward Ashton like they are old friends.

Ashton has to remind himself that, to Michael, they really are old friends.

“Do you trust me?” asks Michael.

 _I don’t know you_ , thinks Ashton, but that has nothing to do with whether or not he trusts Michael. He wants to say that he doesn’t know if he does, indeed, trust Michael. He doesn’t remember six months of his life, and that includes the entirety of his friendship with Michael. He has no reason to trust Michael other than that maybe he personally did during those six months and that both Luke and Calum place their unwavering trust in the Slytherin son of a pair of former Death Eaters who were responsible for the deaths of Luke’s parents during the last months of the war.

The truth is, despite the gaping hole in Ashton’s memory and the absence of Michael in what he can remember from before, Ashton does trust Michael. It is an instinctive thing, like the memories that were once inside of Ashton’s head have left behind ghosts of themselves, and those ghosts are screaming at Ashton to trust Michael. Those ghosts are screaming at Ashton that Michael won’t hurt him and that if Michael is good enough to meet Luke’s approval, Michael is good enough for Ashton, too.

“It’s okay that you don’t,” says Michael, in the space of Ashton’s hesitation. His voice is quiet and sincere, like he wishes Ashton did wholeheartedly trust him but understands that blind faith is a tricky sort of thing.

“I want to,” says Ashton, equally as quiet. It feels important that he is truthful with Michael. It feels like something friends do, and, apparently, they were friends.

“That’s good enough for me,” says Michael.

Ashton believes that it is. Michael nods for Ashton to take his hand. Ashton doesn’t hesitate this time, because he knows what is going to happen. He saw Luke and Calum disappear into the voids in Hogwarts’ magic that Michael creates. He trusts Hogwarts to keep him safe, even if he doesn’t trust Michael.

Michael’s fingers curl around Ashton's. The magic of Hogwarts ripples right between them, separating like curtains. Michael smiles at Ashton, and the magic of Hogwarts washes unadulterated over the pair of them, like pounding rain on a hot summer day. It swallows tehm up and whisks them into nothingness and spits them out on the other side.

The castle of Hogwarts stands at their backs. The Forbidden Forest looms before them, and Professor Hagrid emerges from the doors of his tiny hut, ready to greet his class of students. Ashton’s hand is still safe in Michael’s, and Ashton thinks Michael feels a  lot like the voids do—full of magic and of secrets and of things Ashton doesn’t understand.


	3. Chapter 3

The day is as cold as Michael said it would be, but he is kind enough to perform a warming spell on Ashton’s robes without mentioning the jumper Ashton had purposefully left on Luke’s bed. Ashton appreciates the fact that Michael can be so kind as to not call Ashton out for being so callous with Luke. The truth is that Ashton has been beating himself up enough for throwing Luke’s nicety right back in his face over something as petty as Luke liking to be Michael’s friend. Maybe Michael senses as much and doesn’t want to pour salt into an already painful wound.

In Care of Magical Creatures, they work with Thestrals. They are feeding them again so that the students can get used to working with magic they can’t see. The lesson doesn’t quite carry over for Ashton, who is the only one of his classmates who can actually see the magical creatures, but he enjoys working with them nonetheless.

He pairs with Michael, because, apparently, he always works with Michael. None of Michael’s classmates particularly like him, since everybody knows the Clifford name and how loyal Michael’s parents were to the wrong side during the war. There is no competition to work alongside of Michael.

“It’s fine if you want to work with one of your Gryffindor friends,” says Michael, quietly, as the class ventures farther into the Forbidden Forest where the Thestrals call home. He nods toward the pack of Gryffindors leading the class. Among them is Bart’s friend, Theodore. “It’s got to be a little weird being friends with me after, well, you not remembering anything.”

Ashton licks across his bottom lip, a nervous habit that leaves his lips chapped no matter the weather. He glances at the group of Gryffindors, who are seven strong, but finds in himself no desire to join in with their jolly laughter. None of them had made an attempt to be friendly with him when he appeared out of nowhere with Michael by his side. No one had even looked his way. It was as if he were invisible to them, and it brings an uneasy feeling to the pit of Ashton’s stomach, like maybe what he thinks to be right in his head isn’t how things are at all. Maybe Bart is wrong. Maybe, when Bart isn’t around, Ashton still doesn’t fit in with the people who wear the same colors as he.

“It is a little odd,” agrees Ashton, looking over at Michael.

He means to elaborate and add that he is more comfortable around Michael than when he first woke up in the hospital wing with no memory whatsoever of befriending Michael in the first place, but he gets lost in his own thoughts. The ghost of a memory dances in the back of Ashton’s mind—a pit of fire crabs, Ashton’s wand tangled in his robes, and a jet of bright blue water driving the beasts back, and there, in the white nothingness, like Ashton’s fractured memory can only recall certain important details, is Michael, with Newt on his shoulder, brandishing his wand like a sword in defense of Ashton.

As quickly as the memory comes, it flees, and Ashton stumbles to a stop. He clutches his head with one hand, squinting his eyes shut. His head doesn’t ache, per se, but something inside of his mind rattles around like a handful of tacks inside of a balloon. A wave of nausea washes over him. His knees buckle underneath him. He goes down.

Before he can fall completely to the forest floor, Michael is there, his hands underneath Ashton’s armpits, steadying Ashton’s weight. Knees weak, Ashton collapses into Michael’s arms. Michael grunts but adjusts to Ashton’s weight, and they stand there, alone, in the middle of the Forbidden Forest as the world swirls before Ashton’s vision.

“I’ve got you,” murmurs Michael, softly into Ashton’s ear. “Just lean on me.”

There is something comforting about Michael’s voice. It sounds like the voice of an old friend, even without Ashton remembering the majority of their friendship. Michael’s arms feel nice enveloped around Ashton, like the embrace of a brother. A sense of calm trickles across Ashton’s skin. For the first time since Ashton woke up with no memory of Michael whatsoever, Ashton can almost remember exactly how close of friends they were.

Gradually, the world stops swirling before Ashton’s eyes. The pressure inside of Ashton’s mind abates. He is left resting against Michael with trembling knees. Their classmates have gone on deeper into the forest.

“’M sorry,” says Ashton, and he is.

He is sorry for so, so much. He is sorry that he can’t remember six months of his life and that those six months contain the entirety of his friendship with Michael. He is sorry that his head aches so much sometimes that it makes him want to cry. He is sorry that the best he has to go off these days are everybody else’s opinions of him and the ghosts of the memories lost inside of his mind.

“Don’t apologize,” says Michael. He sounds a lot like Luke with the conviction in his voice, and it makes Ashton choke out an unexpected laugh. “You’re still recovering. Besides, if anybody should apologize, it should be me. You lost your memory, because you were protecting me.”

“It’s not your fault,” says Ashton, into the crook of Michael’s neck, right where it meets his shoulder. He pulls back after a second. He tests his weight on his own knees. Thankfully, they have stopped trembling enough for him to remain upright of his own accord. He takes a step back from Michael, creating a friendly amount of space between them. “Luke said that the Slytherins were trying to steal their magic back, because they thought you took it, but you didn’t.”

Ashton pauses. He licks his bottom lip once more, nervous. The ghost of a memory rattling around inside of his mind feels almost monumental.

“We were good friends, you and I, weren’t we?”

Michael frowns, but he says, “Yeah, we are.”

Ashton notices the difference in the tenses of the verb they both used, and he winces. He wonders how it must feel to be on the other side of things—how it must feel to be good friends with somebody one day and then that person not remember who you are the next. He feels simultaneously awfully sorry for Michael and grateful that Michael has stuck around despite Ashton’s memory loss. It couldn’t have been easy for Michael, creating distance between them that they had already bridged, yet Michael did it in deference to Ashton’s predicament.

“You saved me from fire crabs once,” says Ashton, in an attempt to erase the frown from Michael’s face. He begins to smile himself, because the ghost of a memory is the most that he has of Michael from before he lost his memory, and that is something to celebrate. “I had my bloody wand stuck in my pocket, and you had Newt on your shoulder, and you stepped up to my defense like we were best friend already.”

“Nobody else was helping—wait,” says Michael, his eyes widening in realization. “How do you know about Newt? Luke doesn’t even know about Newt.”

“Well, I was _there_ , you know,” says Ashton, grinning.

Michael gasps, a grin erupting onto his own face. He opens his mouth but closes it immediately, almost like he wants to ask but is terrified that he is misunderstanding this entire conversation and getting his hopes up for nothing. In the end, though, his excitement gets the best of him.

“You remember?”

“I remember.”

Michael squeals, excited, and he throws his arms back around Ashton, drawing Ashton to him once more. Ashton laughs into the crook of Michael’s neck, so overcome with the rush of friendship that he can’t help but to echo Michael’s happiness. Ashton has finally remembered something—he has remembered _Michael_ , the one person that he had forgotten the most—and the world spins a little smoother in the wake of the revelation.

“I’m so damn happy you remember,” says Michael right into Ashton’s ear, and he really must be, because glee saturates his voice. “This is the most brilliant thing ever!”

“It isn’t everything,” warns Ashton.

Michael draws back from Ashton, putting a friendly amount of distance between them once more. He stays close enough, though, to catch Ashton in case Ashton’s knees fail him again. He bites his lips together and looks Ashton square in the eyes. Conviction shines in his own gaze, like he, in fact, does believe that it is everything. It reminds Ashton of Luke, of how Luke believes in Ashton so much that, sometimes, Ashton is terrified he will never, ever live up to Luke’s expectations of him, and that scares Ashton.

“It is more than you had yesterday,” says Michael. “Please, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re doing excellently with what you have.”

Ashton sighs, looking away from Michael because he can’t bear to hold Michael’s gaze any longer. The conviction in Michael’s eyes is almost as scary as it would be in Luke’s, and Ashton has the familiar fear that he can never live up to Michael’s opinion of him, either. Ashton still doesn’t remember Michael very much, but he remembers how Michael came to his aid when nobody—not even Ashton’s fellow Gryffindors—else did. He remembers how Michael was Ashton’s _friend_ even before they became friends. That makes Ashton feel like he needs to impress Michael, but he is terrified that he will fail, just like he has failed to remember anything up until today.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” says Ashton, because it is the truth. He doesn’t see the point in lying about it.

Michael grimaces sympathetically, like a true friend. He doesn’t have a response for Ashton. Perhaps he doesn’t know what to say. Or perhaps he knows whatever he says wouldn’t really matter. Ashton is allowed to feel frustrated with his progress. That is a valid response to everything that is going on in Ashton’s life.

“But I suppose you’re right,” adds Ashton, almost hastily, because maybe Michael has a point. “I at least have some memory of you now, which I couldn’t say before. That’s better than nothing.”

The words taste stale on his tongue, like he should have more than a sliver of a memory of somebody who he is supposedly good friends with. He paints on a fake smile. It is easier to move on from the conversation than it is to tarry on why Ashton feels so disconnected from his own past.

He forces the conversation to a premature end, though he senses Michael has more he wants to say. He offers to lead Michael toward the nearest Thestral, and Michael begrudgingly agrees. Ashton doesn’t feel like he has won anything more than borrowed time, but Michael and he begin their class work without another word about Ashton’s memory. Ashton counts it as a small victory.

After Care of Magical Creatures, Ashton’s day drags on. He goes to his classes and skips lunch in favor of catching up in Transfiguration work, which he had fallen behind in during the time he spent in the hospital wing learning that he couldn’t remember the last six months of his life. Transfiguration is the last class that he is behind in. He is eager to catch up so that he doesn’t have to give up many more lunch breaks and so that he can start preparing for the Transfiguration portion of the O.W.L.s.

By the time Charms, his last class for the day, comes around, Ashton’s head is starting to ache again. He ducks behind an alcove in the corridor outside of the classroom and downs half of a dose of easing potion. He puts the cap back on the vial then stows it away in his bag. He might need it later.

He lingers in the alcove until the aching throb in his head begins to wane and the footsteps in the corridor thin out. He ends up walking in a couple of minutes late. Professor Flitwick lets it slide. He has always had a soft spot for Ashton, and Ashton’s memory loss has only highlighted that fact.

The students are working in pairs, like they do most days. When Ashton makes a beeline for his normal seat, he finds Theodore already sitting in it. Bart looks up at Ashton. There is a devilish glint in his eyes where an apology should be shining.

“Sorry, mate. Didn’t know if you’d make it. I think Juliet needs a partner, though.”

Ashton glances over his shoulder where, sure enough, Juliet is all alone. Ashton sighs. He bites back a retort that Bart planned this, because he _knows_ Bart did. Bart saw an opportunity and took it. But Bart is a good friend, and Juliet is nice, so Ashton adjusts his hold on his book bag and goes to sit in the empty seat next to Juliet. His head still hurts just enough to turn Ashton off the idea of calling Bart out on his pointless nefariousness.

“Bart is acting weird,” says Juliet, first thing, smiling cordially at Ashton. “You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” says Ashton, though it is sort of a lie. He knows that Bart is trying to convince Ashton to pursue Juliet. He assumes this is just Bart’s latest tactic.

Juliet hums in her throat like she doesn’t believe Ashton’s naivety. She raises an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t budge from his previous position. It is quite possible, though unlikely, that Bart really _did_ doubt Ashton would be in class since Ashton had to leave it sick yesterday.

After a couple of seconds of silence, Juliet sighs and accepts Ashton’s stance on the matter. She pushes her textbook across the table so that Ashton can see the pages it is opened up to. She points to the spell in the upper right-hand corner.

“So we’re working on growth charms. Any idea of how to do one?”

Ashton shakes his head. Juliet smiles at him. She reaches for her wand.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re paired with me, then. Let me show you.”

She does. First, she demonstrates the spell with her own wand, practicing it on one of the buttons Professor Flitwick had handed out. The incantation falls effortlessly from her lips, like it was always meant to be there. She is the top of their year in Charms, except maybe Calum, so it is only to be expected that she would already have mastered the spell. The button grows twice its size right before their eyes.

After she finishes the spell, Ashton attempts to mimic her, but his grasp of the spell is mediocre at best. Sometimes, this happens to Ashton. Back when he was first learning to do magic, he was so obsessed with doing the spells by the book that he forgot how important it was to feel the magic flowing through him, how important it was to just direct the magic and let it go from there. A lot of muggleborn witches and wizards have that problem, so unused to the idea of magic at all to really know how to control it. Halfbloods and purebloods, who grew up with magic as the norm, don’t typically have that problem.

Eventually, though, Ashton learned how to master the magic inside of him. He learned how to control the magic that ran through his veins and how to direct it into what he wanted out of it. He loves magic, so he got good at it. He got so good that, by his second year, it was almost impossible to tell the difference between his wandwork and the other magical born children’s wandwork.

But then Ashton woke up in the hospital wing with weak magic and no recollection of six months, and his magic has been wonky—almost unreliable—ever since. 

So Ashton doesn’t master the spell the first time. He doesn’t the second time, either. Ten minutes later, by the time that he would typically have mastery over the spell, even considering his wonky magic, he is still nowhere close to performing it.

He throws his wand down on the tabletop, frustrated. Sparks fly from the tip of the wand. Harmless, they dissipate before they clear the edge of the table, but Ashton watches with sick satisfaction as they leave a scatter of burn marks across the aged wood.

“You’re doing fine,” says Juliet.

She pats his arm sympathetically. Ashton jumps at the touch, startled by how warm her hand is. He expects her to be delicate, but she isn’t. There are calluses on her fingers where her quidditch gloves stops. Her fingernails are short and blunt, because she can’t keep them long as keeper for the Gryffindor quidditch team.

She isn’t delicate, but Ashton isn’t interested in delicate. He is interested in something real—in somebody who won’t fall apart when things get ugly—in somebody who won’t care that he can’t remember six months of his life as long as he remembers them.

Ashton looks up from Juliet’s hand to meet her eyes. He is struck by how beautiful she is. He has always thought she was pretty. Most of their peers do think so, and Ashton is one of them. When she smiles at Ashton, optimistic and encouraging, it lights up her whole face.

“You’re just putting too much stock into being perfect right away,” she says, retracting her hand. She picks up his wand and gives it back to him. “Get messy with your magic. Let it do what it wants to do then tame it into what _you_ want.”

So Ashton takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes and focuses on his magic. It is weak, but it has been weak for a while, so he gathers what he can of it. He practices wrapping his tongue around the incantation. When he is certain that he has a good feel for it, he gives it a go for real. He flicks his wand in the manner Juliet had demonstrated and lets the spell fall comfortably from his lips.

His magic fizzles at the end of his wand, but Juliet puts her hand on top of his at the last second, and the charm bursts into color, a tinted orange that bleeds into brown. The button on the tabletop grows thrice its original size. Ashton grins excitedly over at Juliet. She is already smiling right back at him.

“See? Let your magic get messy—just trust it to do what you need it to do and then manipulate it to do what you need.”

“I’m pretty sure that was mostly you,” he says, because it was. “My magic was fizzling out when you saved it.”

“I didn’t do anything except help you focus your magic. That spell was all you.”

It wasn’t, Ashton knows, so he grabs another one of the buttons from the pile on the table. He takes a deep breath, presses the tip of his wand to the button, and tries the spell again. The button grows right in the palm of Ashton’s hand. The prior thinness of Ashton’s magic is gone, vanished like it was never even there.

Ashton breathes a little easier.

“See? Told you it was all you,” says Juliet. She bumps her shoulder against Ashton’s. It feels like fire against Ashton’s skin, even through the fabrics of their robes. “You’re still you, Ash. Magical and talented and damn near perfect. Your memory hasn’t changed that. It has only complicated things a little.”

Ashton’s breath catches in his throat. His cheeks darken into a bright shade of red. He dares to meet Juliet’s gaze, and her eyes are glinting with warm, gentle pride, like she believes every word she says.

“You mean that?” he asks, his voice nearly low as a whisper. A Gryffindor he may be, he isn’t brave enough to speak any louder, terrified that he is wrong. “You really think I’m damn near perfect?”

Juliet smiles at him again. This time, there is a hint of nervousness in the faint tremble of her lips. Ashton feels a spike of guilt for causing such a response. He put her on the spot and that wasn’t fair. He opens his mouth to tell her she doesn’t have to answer, but she beats him to the punch.

“I’ve always thought so. You could forget every single thing in your entire life, and I’d still think you were almost perfect. You lose points, by the way, for that time in second year when you took a bludger to the stomach and vomited all over yourself in that game against Slytherin.”

Ashton groans. The blush on his cheeks darken. He is never, ever going to live down his very first quidditch match.

“I don’t suppose there is any way I could convince you to forget all about that flattering moment, is there?” he asks.

Juliet laughs. It isn’t a mean response. She isn’t actually laughing at his misfortune like she takes joy out of his embarrassment. Rather, she laughs like she finds amusement in a memory of long ago.

“Jeremy Tate caught the snitch while everybody was distracted by your vomiting ordeal,” she reminds him. Her voice is light, like she only means to tease Ashton and not blame him. “We lost the game because of that. I’m not sure that anything you could do could convince me to forget that wonderful detail.”

Ashton laughs, too, because he supposes that she may be right. Some things just stick with people, even years later. Ashton likes Juliet. She is easy to talk with. She doesn’t treat him like he is an amnesiac. Rather, she treats him like he is a human being, like his memory loss is only one of the thousands of things that make Ashton _Ashton_.

It is nice, being treated normally. There are people who pretend like he never lost his memory. People who try to infuse memories into his head that he doesn’t own. Juliet doesn’t. Ashton appreciates that so, so much.

Truthfully, Ashton appreciates Juliet so, so much. She is nice to him, even when the rest of their Gryffindor friends are a little wary around Ashton, be that because of his memory loss or his preference to spend time with other houses. She reminds Ashton a lot of Luke. They are both gentle souls. They are both beautiful—though Ashton would still secretly swear Juliet has nothing on the Luke’s beauty—and they are both so kind to Ashton that he feels so overwhelmed with emotions that he can hardly breathe.

The thing is, though, that Juliet isn’t Luke. Nobody can measure up to Luke. Ashton stands by what he told Bart: Juliet is a pretty witch, but she is nothing more than a friend. He doesn’t want anything more out of her, either. There isn’t really room inside of Ashton’s heart to want anybody else, not with how much he already wants Luke.

“Guess I’ll have to settle for damn near perfect from you then,” says Ashton.

He wonders if maybe Luke would agree with Juliet—if maybe Luke thinks Ashton is damn near perfect—or if that is even a thing that ever crosses Luke’s mind. The rational side of Ashton, the part of him that understands that he is never lucky enough to get what he wants out of life, knows that Luke doesn’t think anything of Ashton beyond friendship. It is a sobering thought, so Ashton pushes it out of his mind and reaches for another button.


	4. Chapter 4

Ashton runs into Calum on the way down to quidditch practice that evening. Liam nabbed the latest practice slot for the pitch on a Friday night. Hufflepuff, under Niall’s captainship, has just finished their own practice. The Quidditch Cup potentially looms in both of the teams’ futures. They are both scrambling to fit in as many practices as possible before their final matches.

Slytherin lost two players—Finn and Archer—when they were suspended for using an Unforgiveable Curse on fellow students and for a whole slew of other atrocities they committed against Michael, one of which landed Ashton himself in the hospital wing with a big chunk of his memory missing. The replacements for the pair of them are so green that Slytherin itself stands no shot at the Cup. Ravenclaw has even had worse luck than Slytherin. They haven’t won a game all year. Only Hufflepuff and Gryffindor have a chance of bringing the Cup home. Both Liam and Niall are working their teams to the bone in their drive to claim the ultimate quidditch victory.

“Luke has been looking for you,” says Calum as a greeting.

He has his chaser gloves tucked haphazardly into the pocket of his gym shorts, a muggle clothing staple that he has never let go of no matter how much the purebloods turn their noses up at him. Calum is well enough liked by his peers—and by everyone in general—for anybody to ever give him a hard time about it. Today, Calum’s gym shorts are dark green, almost the color of the Slytherin house. He must have a warming charm on him or otherwise he would be freezing in this chilly evening air.

“I was working on Transfiguration all evening,” says Ashton.

He can hardly bring himself to look Calum in the eyes as he speaks. The guilt of the truth of why exactly he had hidden out in the library eats away at him. Calum sees right through him. Perhaps it is because Calum has been Ashton’s friend since they were tiny first years and has seen Ashton grow alongside Luke this whole time. Or perhaps Ashton is a horrible liar, even when he isn’t telling a complete bold-faced lie.

“I figured Luke wouldn’t want much to do with me after how I acted this morning,” adds Ashton after a beat.

He feels immediately vulnerable in the admission, but Calum is his friend. Calum won’t hurt him. Ashton pushes away the tiny nag in the back of his mind that demands he clam up and hide from Calum. Ashton stopped running away from his friends back in second year when he finally accepted the idea that they weren’t going to love him any less just because he was not perfect. He isn’t about to start now—memory or no memory.

“You know how Luke is. He cares about you more than anything else in the entire world,” says Calum. “He’s afraid that he has upset you.”

 _But he hasn’t_ , thinks Ashton. He sighs. If he can’t tell Calum this, he certainly can’t tell Luke, so he pushes aside the guilt eating away at him. He thinks that his twelve-year-old self would be proud of him right now for being candid with Calum like he swore he would always be.

“I’m upset with myself,” he admits. “Luke offered me his jumper, and I think I might have hurt his feelings when I left it on the bed this morning.”

It sounds stupid out loud, but emotions don’t always make sense. Ashton’s emotions certainly haven’t been making sense for a while now, not since he woke up in the hospital wing without his memory or maybe even longer than that. He doesn’t understand how he can feel so much _love_ for Luke yet never be able to act on it. He loves being Luke’s friend. He loves being a part of Luke’s life, but that doesn’t change the fact that he wishes he were more to Luke than a friend and that some deep inside of him has this insane notion that he really is more to Luke.

It is hard to have a fantasy that he knows will never come true, but it is even harder convincing himself that the fantasy doesn’t exist even though every fiber of his being believes it, in fact, does exist.

“You could tell Luke you personally wiped out all of the penguins in the world, and he would still think the sun shined out of your ass,” says Calum, rolling his eyes. He grins but sobers in the next second. “He is worried about you. He wants to help you out all he can, and I know sometimes he can be a little suffocating, but he loves you.”

Ashton’s heart lurches at the word love. He knows how Calum means it. He knows how Luke feels it. He knows the love Luke has for him is merely the same type of love that Luke has for Michael and Calum: platonic. Ashton wishes it meant more, but he will settle for what it does mean, because he will take Luke however he can have him.

“He isn’t smothering me or anything,” says Ashton. “I was just—it’s stupid.”

 Calum levels him with a look. It is a familiar expression, as it is the same one Calum has given him since they became friends way back in first year when Calum obviously didn’t agree with whatever negative assessment Ashton had of himself. It took Calum another year to perfect the look into an expression that made Ashton feel safe and like he needed to spill his deepest, darkest secrets at the same time.

“Whatever it is, it isn’t stupid,” he says, earnestly. “I’m your best friend, Ash. You can tell me, and I won’t judge.”

Ashton sighs. He looks down at their feet. Calum’s laces are untied and haphazardly tucked into his shoes.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” he mutters.

“You mean besides six months of your life?” quips Calum.

Ashton laughs, but it is a short affair. He looks back up to meet Calum’s eyes. He feels braver to plow forward than he does to bow down right now and wonder whether or not he should indeed feel like he is missing something.

“Yeah. I feel like—and I know I might be totally off the mark—but I feel like Luke is hiding something from me.”

By the way that Calum hesitates, Ashton knows he has actually hit the mark. A lead weight settles in the pit of his stomach. It is one thing to suspect something. It is an entirely different matter to have it all but verbally confirmed. He kind of wants to run away now that he has his answer. He doesn’t. His feet are glued to the ground. His mind whirls with all sorts of ideas of what Luke could be hiding from him.

“We all want you to get better,” says Calum, finally, after a long and heavy pause, like he has been weighing what he can and cannot say. “I don’t think Luke—none of us, really—wants to force anything on you. I mean, it wouldn’t be fair, would it? Telling you that you have to live your life in a particular manner just because you used to?”

Ashton hums in his throat. That is sort of what has bothered Ashton the most about this whole memory loss—other people telling him how he used to live his life and then expecting him to carry on in that manner. Ashton is afraid that he can’t live up to this high expectation, but Luke hasn’t once shoved something onto Ashton. He has only offered information that Ashton needed—such as whether or not he forgot Calum’s birthday, which, apparently, he didn’t—and whatever Ashton has asked of him. Nothing more.

So Ashton appreciates that Luke is letting him put his life back together in the manner that he wants to, not in the manner that everybody expects him to. He is so grateful to Luke for that. Really, he is, but a tiny part of him feels like maybe whatever this is that Luke won’t speak of and Calum will only dance around might be something that should be forced on him. Like maybe this secret is the mother of all secrets.

Yet, Ashton can’t fault Luke for being so, so thoughtful. It must be hard having a best friend who doesn’t remember everything that has happened over the course of six months. It is hard enough being the person who doesn’t remember anything.

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t,” he agrees in the end.

Calum offers him a half-smile that suggests he hears the hesitance in Ashton’s response, but he doesn’t call Ashton on it. The relief shining in Calum’s eyes is enough of a testament that Calum has no wishes to tarry on the subject. Truthfully, Ashton doesn’t think he wants to, either, because the longer they stand here talking about the elephant in the room, the more likely Ashton is to beg Calum to spill this secret, and Ashton’s toes curl at the idea of twisting Calum’s arm in such a manner. It wouldn’t be fair to Calum. It wouldn’t be fair to Luke, either. 

“I should get to practice,” says Ashton.

“I should get to Michael,” mirrors Calum, with a grin. The love he has for Michael is plain to see in the soft smile that forms on his lips, like even the merest thought of seeing Michael brings Calum great joy. Ashton firmly refuses to entertain the idea that, usually, this is exactly how Ashton himself feels about Luke. “He’s expecting me. I promised him I’d meet him in the library. You should come by after practice.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” says Ashton.

Calum shrugs.

“You wouldn’t be. The nook is sort of all of our spot, you know?”

Ashton is newly familiar with the nook in the corner of the library. Apparently, it was Michael’s hideaway for years until he met Calum, and then it became Calum’s and Luke’s and Ashton’s as well. It became the spot where the four of them hung out together and did homework together and escaped the world together. In the weeks since Ashton woke up in the hospital wing with amnesia, he has frequented it, but it still doesn’t feel as welcoming as it probably should.

“If I’m not too tired, I’ll stop by,” says Ashton. He mostly agrees to placate Calum. “I still need to finish Transfiguration.”

“You’re not going to fail just because you’re a little behind. You’re managing the current lessons just fine. If you need help, I could always give you a hand. Or Luke could. Or even Michael.”

“Yeah, I know,” says Ashton. “I might have to take you up on that offer.”

Calum smiles. In the distance, Liam blows his whistle, the two minute warning for the commencement of practice. Ashton glances at the pitch. Liam is already up in the air, circling on his broomstick. A handful of Ashton’s teammates are on their brooms, too.

“Go,” says Calum. “And stop by the library later, even if you’re tired. You can always relax in there.”

Calum shoos Ashton off, and Ashton goes, dashing the rest of the way to the pitch. The Gryffindor locker room is across the field from the entrance Ashton used, so he hurries there as Liam directs the airborne team members to fly a few laps around the field for warm-ups.

The locker room is completely empty, save Juliet. She is getting ready to leave when Ashton barrels in, but, like a good teammate, she patiently waits for Ashton to change into his practice clothes instead of allowing him to be the lone tardy player. Ashton strips out of his school robes and into his practice ones in record time.

“Thanks for waiting,” he says to Juliet as he shoulders his broom. One of his gloves is twisted awkwardly around his left hand. He tries to fix it with his teeth. “I totally lost track of time.”

“You’ve been studying too hard,” she says.

She takes pity on him as they leave the locker room. She takes his bat and his broom and carries it down the corridor toward the field. They walk side-by-side, their steps matching. Ashton uses his free hand to fix his errant glove.

“You need to relax a little,” she adds. “You’ve been studying in the library an awful lot lately—even more than most Ravenclaws. I’ve got to tell you that can’t be good for you. All of that studying is going to make you mental or something.”

“I’m still behind in Transfiguration,” he says, defending himself. “I can’t afford to take a break. O.W.L.s are coming up.”

“And you’re going to pass them with flying colors,” she says. He knows she is rolling her eyes, even if he can’t see her face in the dimly lit corridor. It is obvious enough from the tone of her voice. “Don’t tell me you’re skipping out on Hogsmeade tomorrow in favor of doing Transfiguration homework.”

Ashton laughs.

“I’m not that hardworking,” he says. “I always take Luke to Hogsmeade.”

She glances over at him, but it is too quick of a movement for him to read her expression. His cheeks burn at his own choice of words. It is true that he and Luke always spend Hogsmeade trips together, but he hadn’t meant for it to sound like he was taking Luke on a _date_. No matter how much Ashton would like to pretend like he has a shot with Luke, the truth is that he doesn’t. He shouldn’t be carrying on like he does, either.

“Make sure you stop by the Hog’s Head,” says Juliet. “I want to see it with my own eyes, you setting aside your homework for a Hogsmeade trip.”

Ashton grumbles at the implication that she doesn’t trust him to relax. He is smiling too much for it to have any effect whatsoever. She smiles over at him, laughter dancing in her eyes, as she hands him his gear.

“A little break now and then won’t kill you,” she says. “Just because you’ve lost your memory, it doesn’t mean you should lose your life, too.”

High up in the air, Liam blows his whistle. Juliet throws her leg over her broom and kicks off, zooming away. Ashton shakes his head in amusement after her. He has known her for five years, and he keeps forgetting that she won’t take no for an answer. He makes a mental note to stop by the Hog’s Head tomorrow like both she and Bart have requested. Maybe they are both right—Ashton has lost his memory, not his life.

Pushing Hogsmeade to the back of his mind, Ashton climbs on his own broom. He kicks off from the ground and flies up to join his team in the air. Wind whips at his face. He tightens his grip on the beater’s bat. He has spent four years up on a broom with a bat in his hand, and he has only dropped it twice. He doesn’t care for increasing that number.

Liam calls out a warm-up for the team but tells Ashton to stay put. As the other players rush off to complete the formation, Liam flies over to Ashton. He looks every bit like the quidditch captain he is. Comfortable on a broom, Liam looks like he belongs in the sky.

“Listen, I’ve been meaning to ask. Are you sure you—”

“I remember how to play quidditch,” interrupts Ashton, because he knows what Liam is going to ask. It is the same question Liam has asked practically every day since Ashton woke up in the hospital wing with no social recollection of the past six months. Ashton is tired of it. He still knows how to hold and wand and use magic. He also still knows how to fly a broom and knock other people off theirs with a well-aimed bludger.

Liam offers him a tight, nervous smile.

“I integrated new plays into our game, too,” says Liam. “D’you remember them?”

“Didn’t I prove that at our last practice?” asks Ashton.

Liam grimaces. Ashton sighs, feeling guilty for being so short with Liam, who is naturally worried about Gryffindor’s chances at the Cup with someone as fragile as Ashton on the team. If they were in each other’s shoes, he would probably badger Liam just as much.

“I remember our practices, okay? It’s just other stuff I don’t remember.”

“Like?” prods Liam.

“Like whether or not I got Calum a birthday gift,” says Ashton, waving Liam off. “Now, should I join in on the warm-ups? Or are we going to sit here and waste valuable pitch time while I recite every single play you’ve introduced this year?”

Liam narrows his eyes, regarding Ashton suspiciously like he isn’t sure whether or not to believe Ashton’s recollection claim. Ashton folds his arms across his chest, frowning. He nearly accidentally whacks Liam across the head with his beater’s bat, but the momentary danger is enough to solidify Liam’s trust in Ashton.

“All right,” he says. “Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you just ‘cause you can’t remember the brilliant pair of goggles you got Calum to use on his broom in rainy weather. If Hufflepuff plays Ravenclaw in a storm, you’re going to _run_ laps around this field.”

Ashton laughs, but Liam doesn’t, which proves exactly how much Liam is worried about the Quidditch Cup. Ashton figures his best move is to join his team in their warm-ups. He hurries to catch the beginning of a new set of maneuvers before Liam does something totally obsessive like demand Ashton take back his gift to Calum until after the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw match.

After what feels like forever later, Ashton drags himself out of the locker room freshly showered and exhausted to his bones. Liam had been relentless during practice. He demanded they all run their plays several times over until nobody missed a single beat. Ashton’s buttocks hurt from sitting on his broom for so long. His hands hurt from gripping the beater’s bat. All he wants is to leave the quidditch pitch far, far behind and maybe forget about how grueling practices are when Liam wants the Quidditch Cup so bad he swears he can taste it.

The night is chilly. Ashton was sweating in his quidditch robes when he was up on his broom. Now, in his comfortable robes, the adrenaline from practice has long since worn off. He shivers against the cool night air. He reaches into the tangle of his robes to retrieve his wand so that he can perform a warming spell. He never has the chance to.

“I’ve got you,” says Luke, appearing out of nowhere from behind Ashton.

A second later, Ashton feels the slightest tap of a wand on his shoulder. Warmth spreads across his body like a wildfire. He whips around to face Luke, an apology falling from his tongue even as he means to say thank you.

“I’m sorry,” he says, immediately, guilt rushing up his throat like vomit. “I got a little jealous this morning, and I threw your kindness back in your face.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” says Luke, smiling softly at Ashton.

“But I do. I was—it was stupid.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” counters Luke, still smiling. He pockets his wand. His cheeks are pink from the chilly air, but he is wrapped up in heavy winter attire to keep him from getting cold. He probably has his own warming charm on his clothes.“You are allowed to have your own feelings.”

Ashton’s heart skips a beat in his chest. He feels so overwhelmed with forbidden love for his best friend that it makes his breath catch in his throat. He has to curl his hands into fists at his side to keep himself from doing something totally stupid and unwanted—like haul off and kiss Luke for being so damn caring. It isn’t right for Ashton to want to kiss Luke so much but not be able to be completely honest with him. 

“I got jealous of Michael,” says Ashton, so quick his words almost slur together. “And it’s stupid—it is—but you’re keeping a secret from me, and Michael—I don’t know. It’s difficult to—to—”

“To be friends with somebody you don’t remember?” suggests Luke. 

Ashton sighs. He looks away from Luke and nods. The guilt that had rushed up his throat earlier now sets at the back of it, and Ashton swallows around it. Michael has been so, so nice to him. Michael was even nice to him in the sliver of the memory of Michael that Ashton now possesses. While this may be something compared to the nothing that he did have, it doesn’t erase all of the inhibitions that Ashton has of Michael.

“Did you know Michael ended up having to do a warming spell on me?” asks Ashton, blushing to his ears.

“Mike has a knack for magic,” says Luke, quietly, still smiling at Ashton like there is nobody else in the entire world—or maybe that is Ashton’s hopeful imagination.

“I have a knack for being an ass, apparently,” says Ashton.

Luke shakes his head.

“You’re being too hard on yourself.”

But Ashton isn’t—or maybe he is, but he still should not have had been so callous with Luke’s kindness this morning. Ashton appreciates Luke more than anybody in the entire world. He didn’t show his appreciation very well this morning. Luke deserves better.

“I was mean to you this morning,” insists Ashton. “Let me make it up to you—tomorrow will be all about you.”

 _Like every day should be_ , adds Ashton in his mind, but he doesn’t dare say it out loud. His head is pounding in his chest. His breath catches in his throat the pure wonder that softens the already breath-taking smile on Luke’s face.

“Ash, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” says Ashton. He waits a beat. Luke still looks anxious about the idea. “Please.”

It is the magic word. Luke crumbles before Ashton, dropping his head to hide his face right before he steps forward and throws his arms around Ashton to draw him into a big hug. Ashton falls into it immediately. He wraps his arms around Luke on instinct, like his body knows exactly what to do with Luke.

“You’re too good to me,” says Luke. His words come out a little muffled, because his face is buried in Ashton’s neck, and he doesn’t bother to move back to speak properly. “You’re too hard on yourself and too good to me.”


	5. Chapter 5

Hogsmeade is every bit as magical as Ashton remembers it was. The entire village is buzzing with life as third-year-and-above Hogwarts students fill the streets. Ashton wanders through the village with Luke by his side. It is too crowded to walk four-strong, so they follow Michael and Calum through the throng of students straight to Honeydukes.

It is sort of like a tradition, Calum and Ashton and Luke hitting the candy store first to load up their pockets with sweets to snack on throughout the rest of the trip and to enjoy the leftovers later back at the castle. The only difference this time, between Ashton’s memories and reality, is that Calum keeps one hand clasped in Michael’s. It is a good difference. Ashton doesn’t feel so bad commandeering Luke’s time now that Calum has somebody else to hang out with at Hogsmeade.

Honeydukes is crowded, with both people and magical candy. Luke twists through the mess straight to the chocolate frogs. He likes the way they jump almost as much as he likes the way they taste, all chocolaty and magical. Ashton follows him through the crowd, unwilling to lose Luke in the excitement. They leave Calum and Michael behind by the shelves of Bertie Bott’s jellybeans.

“Don’t you want some cauldron cakes?” asks Luke, smiling over at Ashton, when they stop in front of the chocolate display case. “And some sugar quills? I think they have a new strawberry flavored one.”

“Don’t think there’s a clear path to either of them at the moment,” says Ashton, not taking his eyes off Luke. He doesn’t know if his reasoning is true, but he doesn’t care, either. “We’ll get your chocolate first.”

Luke glances in the direction of the cauldron cakes then the sugar quills near the front of the store. He narrows his eyes. The smile remains on his lips as turns back to Ashton. His eyes are so, so warm. He reaches for Ashton’s hand, linking their fingers together for a brief second. Ashton’s entire body freezes, stunned by the perfect, familiar feel of Luke’s palm pressed against his own. Ashton wants to hold on and never, ever let go, but Luke retracts his hand before Ashton regains his bearings. 

“I’m really glad we’re—friends,” says Luke, tripping over his words.

Ashton’s heart stutters over a beat in his chest. Perhaps Luke, too, felt how _right_ it was when their hands were pressed together. Ashton isn’t brave enough to ask to find out for sure. Besides, it is probably just Ashton’s overactive, hopeful imagination.

It doesn’t matter, though. Luke turns back to the chocolate a second later. The moment passes, and Ashton loses the opportunity to ask. A part of him is relieved.

“How d’you think blueberry chocolate frogs would taste?” muses Luke.

“Wrong.”

Luke laughs.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he says. He eyes the large bar of Honeydukes’ finest chocolate setting next to the array of chocolate frogs. He sighs. “I hate this part.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause it all looks so good, and I can’t choose,” says Luke. He ponders over the chocolate for a moment longer. Then he grabs a package of regular chocolate frogs, turning away from the chocolate bar. “Let’s go get you some cauldron cakes before I change my mind again.”

Ashton laughs but lets Luke lead him away toward the front of the store. There, Ashton chooses a variety cauldron cakes, making sure to get at least one chocolate-flavored one for Luke, who will no doubt want to steal one later. He also grabs a package of sugar quills then follows Luke to the queue. When it is his turn to ring up his items, Ashton grabs one of the bars of Honeydukes’ finest chocolate just because he knows Luke would have bought it if he had enough pocket money. He can’t wait to surprise Luke to it later.

Luke lingers in the shop while Ashton pays for his sweets. He doesn’t go too far, too afraid that they might not ever find each other again if they were to be separated in the crowded shop. They run into Calum and Michael on the street outside of the store. Both Calum and Michael have been waiting for a few minutes, evident by the way they are already snacking on their sweets. Michael, in particular, is picking his way through a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, munching happily on them.

“How do you always pick the good ones out?” asks Calum, looking at Michael in amazement, as Luke and Ashton approach them. “You haven’t gotten a single bad one this whole time.”

“Have too,” counters Michael. He tosses a green one into his mouth and chews it without scrunching up his face in disgust. “The last one was grass.”

“I don’t believe you,” says Calum. He kisses Michael like he, in fact, doesn’t believe Michael’s claim. It is a risky choice that results in a brief affair. Calum pulls away, not even a second later, frowning. “It really was grass.”

“Yep,” says Michael. He pops another jelly bean into his mouth. It is pink and speckled different colors. “This one’s bubblegum. You should have waited to kiss me.”

Calum laughs, shaking his head at Michael even as a smile remains on his lips. Ashton doubts it ever really leaves when it comes to Michael, and he feels a spike of jealous rise up in his chest. He longs for what Calum and Michael. He longs to be able to call Luke his own and to be allowed to fawn over Luke all of the time. He would love to be able to kiss Luke just to find out if Luke was lying about questionable-tasting jellybeans.

Ashton can’t, though. He and Luke are nothing more than friends, and friends don’t fawn over one another. Friends don’t kiss each other to prove a point—or for any other reason.

“We’re going to head to the quidditch shop. I need some more polish,” says Calum, looking to Luke and Ashton. He leaves Michael to his jellybeans. “Do you two want to join, or d’you want to meet up at the Three Broomsticks later?”

Ashton glances at Luke, letting him field the question, because today is all about Luke. He should be the one to decide whether or not to take Calum up on his offer. Ashton doesn’t really care either way, as long as he is with Luke. He has no particular need to stop by the quidditch shop, but he knows how hesitant Luke has always been to leave Calum on his own in Hogsmeade. Truthfully, Ashton never likes it either, and he is thankful that they no longer have to worry about that now that Michael is in the picture.

“I, er, think we’ll meet you later, if that is okay,” answers Luke. He glances briefly at Ashton to allow Ashton the chance to disagree with him. Ashton doesn’t, so Luke turns back to Calum. “I really want to see the Shrieking Shack and maybe go to the music shop. I know Mike wants to stop by the bookstore, so…”

Calum laughs, kindly.

“That’s sort of what I expected you to say, but I thought I’d ask anyway.”

It feels familiar to Ashton in a way that his memory can’t explain, watching Calum and Michael offer their farewells and walk away. Ashton has never truly abandoned Calum in Hogsmeade. They have occasionally parted ways for a few minutes to go into different shops, and, most of the time, Luke followed after Ashton, or vice versa, but Ashton never remembers Calum voluntarily going off on his own.

A lot has changed in the months missing from Ashton’s memory. They must have spent the last Hogsmeade trip separated into pairs, too. It would only make sense, because Michael and Calum are dating, and they deserve their alone time. Luke and Ashton must have given it to them before, or else it wouldn’t feel so natural to part ways with promises of meeting up later now.

With Calum and Michael gone, Ashton turns to Luke.

“I know that I said today was all about you, and it is, but do you mind stopping by the Hog’s Head real quickly first? I told Bart I’d stop by, and I’d rather just go ahead and get that out of the way.”

Luke hesitates, ducking his head so that he doesn’t have to look at Ashton. A bright blush chases across his skin, heating up his cheeks and coloring his ears. He shuffles his foot across the cobblestones, a nervous gesture that speaks volumes.

“Er—I’m not sure I should go in there,” says Luke, quietly. “They’re not—I’ve never been welcomed by them. They probably wouldn’t want me there.”

“I don’t care what they want,” says Ashton. “Bart and Juliette both asked me to stop by, and they both know I take you to Hogsmeade. They wouldn’t have asked if they didn’t suspect I’d bring you.”

“Still, I’ll just head to the bookstore or something while you’re with your friends.”

Ashton winces at the emptiness of Luke’s voice. It sounds foreign, how cold the word ‘friends’ can fall from Luke’s lips. He wants to tell Luke that Bart and the other Gryffindors aren’t actually his friends—that none of the Gryffindors look at him twice anymore—except he doesn’t think that is true. At the start of the term, back in September, Ashton remembers how lonely Gryffindor tower had felt. Over the past few weeks since Ashton woke up in the hospital wing with a chunk of his memory missing, he hasn’t noticed the same isolation in his house.

Something must have changed in the months missing from Ashton’s memory that made Ashton and Bart good friends, or else Bart wouldn’t want Ashton to stop by at the traditional Gryffindor-only meet up. Bart has never asked him before, not last year and not the year before that, either. Ashton doesn’t know exactly what happened to change the previous status quo. Bart hasn’t said, and nobody else has, either. He does know, however, that he doesn’t want to show up alone.

As friendly as Bart is, there is something comforting about having Luke at Ashton’s side.

“Please, it’ll be for five minutes, tops, just to get them off my back,” pleads Ashton. “I swear, this is the only thing I’ll ask for the rest of the day.”

Luke looks up at Ashton, peering through his eyelashes. His eyes are so, so blue that they nearly knock the breath right out of Ashton’s lungs. Luke hesitates. He glances toward the Hog’s Head Inn, sighing.

“You know I can never say no to you. Merlin, Ashton, you could ask for me to move into the Gryffindor dorm and spend all of my time with them, and I would if you wanted me to bad enough—and if McGonagall or Vector didn’t kick me out.”

Ashton smiles, biting down on his tongue to keep it tame. He wants so much to tell Luke how much he adores Luke—how much he _loves_ Luke—but he isn’t allowed to. Luke is just his friend. Luke is only agreeing to go into a den of lions, because he is a good friend. Nothing more.

“Five minutes, I swear, and no longer. I owe you a big one for this.”

“You don’t,” says Luke, shaking his head. “Let’s just get this over with.

But Ashton does owe Luke for putting aside his hesitance and accompanying Ashton to the Hog’s Head, where, typically, houses other than Gryffindor don’t frequent. The pub became a Gryffindor hotspot following the war, after it was used by legendary fearless Gryffindors to sneak students out of Hogwarts underneath the Dark Lord’s reign. A decade and a half later, nobody Ashton’s age even remembers the dark days of the wizarding world, but established traditions don’t die easily. They get handed down to new generations of students.

To heed Luke’s request, Ashton turns down the next alleyway. It leads straight to the Hog’s Head Inn. The sign outside hangs crookedly right in front of the door. Inside, the place is nearly packed. The pub rumbles with chatter and laughter. It is a sea of scarlet and gold. Luke, in his Ravenclaw scarf, doesn’t fit in at all.

Ashton cuts a zig-zagged path through the throng of students, straight back to the corner where Bart and Juliette and a few others are seated around a large, round wooden table. Ashton reaches for Luke’s hand as they go. He tells himself it is just so they won’t get separated. He refuses to consider any other motive. He can’t leave Luke to fend for himself in a pub he hadn’t even wanted to go into in the first place. That is all this is.

Still, though, Luke’s hand feels warm against Ashton’s palm. It is a familiar weight, like it is meant to be there and nowhere else. Maybe it isn’t so easy for Ashton to believe his own lies.

It feels like it takes forever to make it to their destination. Once they do, Ashton stops right in front of the table. He makes no move to sit down. He had promised Luke five minutes, and such a short amount of time doesn’t warrant seats. Luke stands so closely next to Ashton that their shoulders are squashed together. It is probably only because there is so little free space left in the pub, but Ashton imagines it might be because Luke doesn’t want to let go of Ashton’s hand as much as Ashton doesn’t want to let go of his.

Everybody is already here. Bart is front and center, his back to the wall, so that he has the perfect view of the entire pub. Theodore sits next to him. Dark haired and lanky, he stares distractedly across the room and tapping his wand against the aged wood of the table. It sends sparks flying every third tap, but they are mostly harmless against the magic-stained tabletop. Theodore has never had much contact with Ashton outside of normal dorm mate interactions.

Only Juliette offers a friendly greeting to Ashton. She is already halfway through a mug of butterbeer. An empty plate sets before her on the table. There are crumbs of her favorite pumpkin pasties left behind in the plate.

“You made it!” she cheers. “Guess you’re not all that hardworking after all.”

“I told you I wasn’t,” says Ashton, laughing.

“And you’ve brought company,” she comments, eyeing Luke. She smiles warmly at him then returns her attention to Ashton. “It’s always good to see new faces in here. Gets kind of boring listening to those buffoons go on and on about quidditch—like we don’t get enough of it already with Liam working us to the bone.”

Ashton readies a witty response—something about how mental Liam has become about quidditch lately—but he never gets to say it. Bart cuts in, glaring in Luke’s direction. He speaks plainly to Ashton.

“What is he doing here? I don’t remember saying you could invite him.”

The words land like sucker punches. They knock the breath out of Ashton’s lungs. He winces. Guilt floods his entire being. He shouldn’t have brought Luke here. He should have listened to Luke’s hesitation instead of convincing him to ignore it.

Luke steps back, nearly hiding behind Ashton, exactly as Ashton steps in front of him. Ashton promised Luke that he didn’t care what Bart wanted, and part of that promise is protecting Luke for being brave enough to come in here despite his reservations.

Bart narrows his eyes, his gaze flitting to Luke for a brief second. When it returns to Ashton, it is loaded with animosity. Ashton is Luke’s personal shield, and he refuses to let Bart’s house prejudices get to Luke.

“I always take Luke to Hogsmeade,” says Ashton, as if that should be enough of a justification for dragging Luke into the Hog’s Head against Luke’s wishes. Ashton feels guilty now more than ever. He should have listened to Luke and taken him to straight to the music store. He shouldn’t have even bothered to show up here in the first place. “Since when did you not know that?”

Bart snorts, but the animosity in his eyes only intensifies. He stares at Ashton like he facing a threat, but Ashton isn’t a threat. Ashton isn’t an enemy. He is supposed to be Bart’s best friend—except that Ashton has never known such hatred from a friend.

“Oh, come on, Bart. Get real. Ashton can invite whoever he wants. You don’t own him,” snaps Juliet. She smiles kindly at Ashton then Luke. “Grab a butterbeer. Pull up a chair, and ignore Bart. He’s just pissy that Eliana didn’t want to go to the teashop with him today.”

Bart huffs.

“I am not,” he claims, but he does settle back in his chair and grab his butterbeer, deflating. The animosity disintegrates as quick as it earlier appeared. “I didn’t even ask her to go to the teashop. I just asked if she wanted—you know what? It doesn’t matter. I told you that in confidence.”

“Actually, you told me in confidence,” interrupts Theodore. He turns to Bart long enough to flash him a cocky grin before he returns his attention to whatever is so intriguing across the room. He pays neither Luke nor Ashton any mind. “I sold you out for a couple of pumpkin pasties when you were gone to the loo.”

“You what?!” demands Bart, indignant.

Juliet laughs as Bart seethes. She turns to Ashton. Her laugh fades to something akin to an apologetic smile.

“Seriously, Bart’s being an ass. Just ignore him. Go get a couple of butterbeers for you and Luke. Put it on Bart’s tab.”

It is a tempting offer, Juliette’s olive branch offer, but Ashton isn’t so sure about getting a drink or even staying here for the promised five minutes. He can feel anxious tension rolling off Luke in waves. They are so intense that Ashton half-expects Luke to flee, but Luke is still here, standing behind Ashton like he would follow Ashton to the end of the world—except it is probably only Ashton’s fantastical imagination that Luke would indeed do just that. Luke is only a good friend who agreed to spend the entire day at Hogsmeade with Ashton.

“Nah,” says Ashton, stepping backward away from Bart and lingering undertones of animosity that hadn’t quite completely disintegrated. It feels like something much, much more than just turning to leave. He crowds into Luke’s space, wanting to shield Luke as much as he can. “I can’t tell when we’re not wanted.”

“Ashton, it’s not that _you’re_ not wanted. It’s that _he’s_ not wanted,” says Bart, nodding in the direction of Luke. “Different houses and all.”

Luke shrinks farther into himself. He takes a step back, as if the added distance could cushion the blow of Bart’s cruel words. Anger crescendos in Ashton’s chest. Luke already looks so, so tiny and out of place in the Hog’s Head surrounded by scarlet and gold. Ashton wishes he had never even brought Luke here in the first place.

“If you want to stay, I can go find Calum and Michael,” offers Luke, quietly, so that only Ashton can hear him. He smiles bravely at Ashton, but Ashton can see the way it wobbles on his lips. “I don’t mind.”

But Ashton does. He can’t imagine sitting in this dingy pub surrounding by people who say that Luke isn’t welcomed. He would sooner head straight back to Hogwarts with Luke and miss out on the entire Hogsmeade Village than abandon Luke for Bart.

Ashton reaches for Luke’s hand. It is clammy in his own, another testament to how uneasy Luke feels. Luke immediately tightens his grip on Ashton’s hand. Ashton mirrors him, holding on so tight that his fingers start to feel numb.

“I told you I’d take you to Hogsmeade,” answers Ashton. “There’s no way I’d rather hang out in here than be with you.”

The smile on Luke’s lips turns into a genuine one in an instant. It makes his eyes light up. Ashton’s heart skips a beat in his chest. He wants so much to kiss Luke right now—to taste Luke’s beautiful smile—but he can’t. Friends don’t go around kissing each other on the lips. They certainly don’t do it in dingy pubs in front of an unwelcoming audience.

“Let’s get out of here,” says Ashton. “Head up to see the Shrieking Shack and then stop by the music store before we meet up with Calum and Michael again.”

He doesn’t give Luke a chance to argue, not that Luke even has an argument. He uses his hold on Luke’s hand to tug him back through the maze of tables toward the entrance. Bart doesn’t call after Ashton to stop him. He just lets Ashton leave. Only Juliette wishes Ashton and Luke a farewell. Ashton throws a smile over his shoulder at her, grateful for her kindness at the very least, as they leave.

His gaze slips to Luke at the last second, and Luke is gazing right back at Ashton, his eyes wide with unadulterated awe, like he can’t quite believe Ashton before him. The sight makes Ashton’s toes curl in his shoes. His heart beat speeds up in his chest. He almost can’t bring himself to look away—and he probably wouldn’t, except he nearly trips over his own feet in the crowded pub. Luke’s firm hand in Ashton’s is the only thing that keeps him upright. A bright blush chases across his cheeks. Embarrassed, he turns back around and resolves to put one foot on front of the other until they’re safely outside, and he doesn’t want to kiss Luke so badly he can taste it.

“I’m sorry,” says Ashton, once they are standing on the cobblestones outside. He slows to a stop and turns around to face Luke. His hand is still trapped in Luke’s. He makes no move to free it, because Luke’s grip is tight, and Ashton doesn’t want to let go, either. “That was a complete waste of time, and I’m sorry that Bart was mean to you.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” says Luke, smiling self-depreciatively. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. I’m a big boy. I can handle a few mean words.”

“But you shouldn’t have had to,” says Ashton, guilt running rampant through his veins. “If it wasn’t for me insisting—”

“Hey, I told you I’d follow you anywhere, right? I don’t even know why you’re the one apologizing. You took up for me. You chose me over them, and that was more than worth seeing the look on Bart’s face when you did.”

Luke grins, but Ashton sighs, still feeling overwhelmed with guilt. Ashton doesn’t know why he thought going to the Hog’s Head was a good idea in the first place. It was obvious that he didn’t belong there as much as Luke didn’t. He doesn’t even know why he thought he would be welcomed now when he doesn’t recall ever being.

“The rest of the day is about you, I swear,” says Ashton. It isn’t enough to make up for the mean words that Luke had to endure because of Ashton, but it is a start. “I’m sorry that it wasn’t from the start.”

“Stop being so hard on yourself,” says Luke. He tightens his grip on Ashton’s hand for a fraction of a second, a tiny reminder that they are, in fact, still holding hands. It brings a rush of happiness flooding through Ashton’s chest. “You chose me, and I swear, you have nothing to be sorry about. Now, can we stop by the wizardwear store? I really want to find some kind of socks or something that I can enchant for Newt.”

“Of course,” says Ashton. He pushes aside his guilt, because Luke asked him to. He doesn’t forget it, though. He still has to make it up to Luke, who deserves so much more than the awful words that Bart had spewed. He doesn’t want to ruin the rest of the day by fixating on his guilt. “Whatever you want.”

He leans forward and presses a soft kiss against Luke’s cool cheek. He means it as an apology for being so naïve as to think that going to the Hog’s Head Inn was a good idea. More than that, the kiss is a compromise to his desire to kiss Luke full on the lips, because friends don’t kiss each other on the lips, yet Ashton wants to kiss Luke so badly he can’t help himself. He settles with a gentle kiss and tries not to tarry in it for too long.

When he pulls back, Luke’s cheeks are a pretty shade of pink. Luke smiles softly, raising his free hand to touch the exact spot on his cheek where Ashton’s lips had brushed across his skin. Ashton feels giddy all over. Luke had liked the kiss, too. Ashton knows it is nothing more than Luke liking affection, but it feels like the world.

“Whatever I want,” repeats Luke, softly. “I think I’ve already sort of got that, you know. I mean, I have you.”

Luke’s words make Ashton want to kiss him again but properly on the lips this time. It takes everything in Ashton’s power to tug Luke toward the wizardwear shop instead. Today is all about what Luke wants, and Ashton doubts Luke would want to kiss him back.

**Author's Note:**

> Come be my friend on [tumblr](http://tigerlily-sunshine.tumblr.com/)! I occasionally talk about this story there! :)


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